l'apel du vide
by The Real JosephineSilver
Summary: Brotherhood AU. On that stormy Risembool night when lightning and rain tore the sky asunder, Alphonse Elric's life comes crashing down around him due to the loss of both his brother and his limbs in their futile attempt to bring their mother back to life. But Ed isn't as gone as it first seems, and Al joins the ranks of the State Alchemists to find a way to free his older brother.
1. Chapter 1

**title**: l'appel du vide  
**rating**: a high 'T' for language, mild gore, creepy themes  
**characters**: pretty much everyone in the Brotherhood universe gets a mention.  
**pairings**: twisted EdWin, hinted Royai, Havoc name drops an OC girlfriend.

**summary**: on that stormy Risembool night when lightning and rain tore the sky asunder, Alphonse Elric's life comes crashing down around him due to the loss of both his brother and his limbs in their futile attempt to bring their mother back to life. But Ed isn't as gone as it first seems, and Al joins the ranks of the State Alchemists to find a way to free his brother.

**notes**: well inspiration can come from crazy places. This is an AU, if you can't tell, in which Al never went into the armour in the first place abd Ed was the one to pay the ultimate price. Also Al has automail, but my reasoning there will become clear. Set in the Brotherhood/manga 'verse, not the 2003anime one. This was inspired by another anime,_ 'Le Chevalier D'Eon_."

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[prologue]

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The soft sound of chalk scraping against stone ground and leaving marks and lines behind, swirls that will contribute ultimately to the resurrection of the most perfect woman on earth; it should be comforting, but it isn't.

Alchemy has always been a part of Alphonse Elric's admittedly short so far life. It was the bread and milk on which his intellect was raised and he can't imagine anything more soothing than the feel of soft chalk powder against the pads of his fingers as the energy from an active array turns thermal and hot, warming him all the way to his chest, but this specific array, this transmutation that he and his brother are attempting - he can tell why it's forbidden from ever being preformed, why it's taboo is the most unbreakable out there.

It feels _wrong_.

Dark and almost sentient, malice and unbridled hunger lie in wait, radiating from the spaces of stone left clear in between linking lines and whirls of white chalk.

Ed reaches for the box of chalk they had brought along with them, and pulls out the last piece, using it to go over the lines one last time, making them thicker, more substantial.

_Yes_, the air seems to whisper. _Strengthen the circle. The stronger the circle, the better the power._

_The better the power, the higher the toll._

"Brother," Al swallows nervously as Ed pauses in his quick but precise line work, hand still poised to add extra protection to the array as his aureate eyes flick up to his younger brothers, only slightly darker than his own. "I don't think we should be doing this."

The moment the words have left Al's mouth, Ed's eyes make a subtle flick downwards before meeting his gaze once again, their version of an eye roll; something they had adapted while under the strict tutelage and care of one Izumi Curtis, who had banned the usage of such disrespectful and immature actions as that from her house, along with all kinds of words that Ed considered '_fun_,' which explained why he'd been swearing like a sailor since they had gotten back into Risembool.

"Relax, Al," his elder brother reassured him as he finished adding on final touches and placed down the small stub of chalk. Ed's grin was wide and took up almost entire face. Out of nowhere, Alphonse thought he looked like he could pass for a Moon-Childe, a fantastical creature that their mother used to tell them stories about.

The thought hit Al like a well aimed wrench.

_Mother_. That's why they were doing this.

"Everything'll be fine," Ed continued, oblivious to Al's preoccupation. "We'll get mum back, and it'll all be perfect, 'kay?"

Alphonse nodded firmly, resolve strengthened once more. "Right."

"Now, time for a little soul data," Ed murmured, seemingly to himself though Al nodded in agreement. Holding out his arm over the dish filled with elements and components in measurements Ed could reel off like the alphabet but Al was yet to remember flawlessly, he held back a wince as Ed cut a quick slice into the sensitive pad of a fingertip. He'd already cut himself, and their blood dripped onto the pile of dust that was meant to become their mother, blending in among the powder.

"We're good," Ed said as he let his arm fall to his side, a wicked grin flashing across his face. The brothers made their way back to the edge of the circle, careful not to smudge or erase any of the lines. Just the slightest adjustment would lead to a miscalculation that would be impossible to fix if they didn't catch it before activation, which would end in a rebound.

Kneeling next to Ed, Al felt his uncertainties rise up once again.

But then his brother slapped both palms to the chalk circle, and before Alphonse could say a word, something crackled with power behind Ed's eyes as he used his willpower to manipulate leftover tectonic energy and pushed it through himself into the array, his body merely a flesh conduit for the blue, snapping alchemical lightning that filled the now active transmutation array.

Panicking, Al slammed his own hands down onto the outer circumference line of the array and felt the familiar buzz of the stray energy flood through him as he opened his mind to it. He didn't want to do this all that much anymore, but active arrays couldn't simply be cut off from transmuting by removing one's hands from the lines, and if he tried to force Ed to stop the alchemy a rebound would occur - on his big brother.

And if he let his brother continue to keep the array active and alive until completion by himself a rebound would occur anyway - for a transmutation this big more energy than one alchemist alone could channel would be required.

The blue light of the alchemical reaction intensified, and the heat of the lines around Al's palms was becoming near unbearable.

A few more seconds passed. Al blinked at the other edge of the circle, convinced that the heavy use of alchemy was making him light headed - why else would he be seeing black tentacle like things - _hands_, whispered something insidious inside his mind - rising up from the circle and then folding back over, like gently roiling waves, or curling around him an his brother; caressing, like wild fern fronds?

One glance at Ed showed that he too was seeing what Al was seeing, and was just as baffled.

A particularly daring frond -_ yes, that was a good word for them/why am I referring to them like they have personality_? Thought Al - wrapped itself around Alphonse's right wrist tighter than the others had, and squeezed and _pulled_.

His hand and a vast majority of his forearm _shattered_ away from his body, and he couldn't help the cry of alarm that escaped his mouth. "Brother!"

"_Al_!" Ed sounded anguished, and as Al glanced over, mind and body both still reeling over what had just happened, and adrenalin and fear singing through his veins at warp speed, he saw why.

The black fronds had looped themselves securely around Ed's waist, arms and legs, and were snaking up towards his throat.

"Brother!" Al cried out in panic, instinctively reaching for his older sibling -_ with the arm that didn't have a hand_.

He sobbed as the black fronds constricted around Ed - one last, terrified scream came from his brother before, with a burst of white and an intense backlash of what felt like pure alchemical energy, Ed was deconstructed, his bodymindsoul taken as fuel for the transmutation they had so idiotically activated and thought they had control over.

Though Al had removed his hands from the circle, the array had had enough energy fed into it to keep it going independently for a while, and with his mind in the state it was - grief and pain warring for supremacy - he knew, objectively, that he couldn't shut it down on his own.

But he _had_ to try.

Placing his left hand and the stump of his right back onto the circle, he tried to _pull_ back on the energy that was spinning and sparking wildly among the array, completely without a will or mind of its own but faithfully following the template of chalk set out for it.

The heat of the lines hurt like crazy and blistered his skin - the scent of cooking flesh hit his nostrils and Al wondered if the wound on his right arm was being cauterised - but he pressed down harder and pulled, refusing to take no for an answer.

The energy in the array reacted insanely to the components that didn't belong in the instructions chalked out - the iron and other elements in the blood that was flooding out of Al's arteries and into the circle.

With a sibilant hiss, black tentacles and hands reached for him, and he felt instinctive panic rear up within him.

_Those were the things that had taken Ed_.

They brushed against his left leg - not squeezing, not grabbing - a gentle caress, just like his mother used to give him as she tucked him in - and his leg _disintegrated_.

The pain was too much. Barely aware of the black tentacles looping around his torso and dragging him, slowly, inexorably, towards the center of the array, smearing blood and chalk behind him, he collapsed, becoming a dead weight in the unbearable grip of the fronds.

His eyes focused in on the pile of clothes that was all that was left of his brother.

_Ed..._

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[tbc in 'interlude one']


	2. Chapter 2

**title**: l'appel du vide  
**rating**: a high 'T' for language, mild gore, creepy themes

**review replies**: Guest; not _exactly_. Thanks for reviewing.

**notes**: this chapter is an interlude chapter, which means it is not in Al's pov. Chapters will be interspersed with interludes. This particular one is in the pov of one Roy Mustang. While on the subject of Roy Mustang, we'll bring up Riza Hawkeye, too - not 100% certain what rankings they where at on that night, so I'm calling artistic liscence, just in case I'm wrong.

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[interlude one]

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The Amestrian language is known as a bastard language to most of its surrounding countries. Because Amestris was born of several different nations and cultures all conquered over time and blended together as one, the language was a mix of all of those long forgotten countries tongues.

Several words have identical or similar meanings, while others have none at all.

A running commentary of words and their definitions played through the mind of Roy Mustang as he stared, unblinkingly, at the scarlet painted room before him.

Horror. Terror. Disgust. Grief, fear, shock. Disbelief and refusal.

Not one seemed quite appropriate for the situation.

With one glance, Roy had been transported back to Ishval, the darkness of the basement room lit only slightly by the randomly flickering blue light of a dying transmutation. The scent of gore - no, not even _gore_; fresh, _human_ death (a smell like slaughterhouse mixed with outhouse; shit and blood) - permeated the air, moved along and strengthened by the heat and moisture radiating up from the open basement door, the heat most likely leftover thermal energy from a significantly large array (under the thick scent of arterial blood, pennies; the scent of alchemy lingered, still metallic; molten steel compared to copper), the moisture from - well, _God_ knew where, but Roy didn't want to think about it. Possibly from evaporated blood.

He swallowed hard and blinked, letting his eyelids linger shut for just a few seconds more than necessary.

"Colonel?" Hawkeye's voice came floating from the above landing, becoming louder as she moved closer. He could hear the stairs creak under her weight as she stepped down to follow him.

"Stay up _there_, Lieutenant," he barked out the order, and then winced at the sound of his panicked tone.

The noise of the wooden stairs groaning quieted as the Lieutenant paused. He could feel the hesitance coming from her in waves. "Sir," she said in obedience, but the underlying message was clear - _I'm only staying here as long as I deem it safe_.

"_Brother_..._Ed_."

Roy froze, and he heard Hawkeye gasp. Her shadow wavered against the uneven cream plaster, flickering and twisting grotesquely in the faint afterglow of the blue lightning of a transmutation, shifting towards his own like it was drawn to it; two black and insubstantial magnets as she disregarded his orders and began to make her way into the basement proper.

"Is that -" she swallowed as she came into Roy's line of vision, her gun cocked and half raised, the barrel pointed downwards. "That sounded like a _child_."

Though it was the last thing he wanted to do, Roy turned back around to face the basement, and let his vision focus in on something his subconscious had very obviously tried to keep hidden from him.

"Yes, Lieutenant," he said in a rough voice that was so quiet, it could barely be called a whisper. Looking down at what he had at first thought was a pile of bloody rags, he continued, "I think it was a child."

His words were like a branding iron in the heated air of the room, and he imagined he could hear the array hissing and roiling with malicious laughter as they echoed through the basement, leaving their harrowing mark on his psyche like a lover's kiss.

Riza moved up beside him. Nearly any other woman would have reacted strongly - with outright horror or disgust (again, these words didn't exactly fit) - but the only sign of her feeling towards her Colonel's discovery was a slight widening of her eyes, a minuscule blanching of the blood that lived under the skin of her cheeks.

Her vision was fixated on the slowly moving mass on the stone floor - a boy with one arm and one leg, of golden (and red) colouring. The blood that should have been spurting from his very new stumps (God, had his limbs been_ torn off his body_?) was only exiting his body at a very sluggish thumping pace, as if his pulse no longer had the strength to force his life's liquid from his veins.

It was clear this boy was near death, yet despite the pain he had to have been in, he had held onto enough clarity of mind to moan out a repeated mantra: "Ed..._please_, brother..._brother_..._Ed_...Ed..."

The Lieutenat finally let a bit of that hidden emotion shine through the cracks, oozing slowly out of her mask like a yolk from an egg. "My God," she whispered, not seeming to notice as her gun moved to hang limp by her side. She absentmindedly flicked the safety on and holstered it as she continued, "What on earth happened here?"

Roy narrowed his eyes at the blood covered circle that took up most of the room. The curves of the innermost lines, the sigils and glyphs that scattered at a seemingly random but at closer glance meticulously configured pattern on the outermost circle - he'd seen them before, had studied them voraciously in a half crazed stupor. Not exactly as they were drawn out here, but the theory that had echoed across both circles _felt_ the same.

_Human_ fucking _transmutation_.

Roy felt his teeth come together with an audible clack at the same time that he clenched his fists hard enough to create friction with his ignition gloves.

He panicked for a moment, before remembering his gloves were soaking wet and even if he had created a spark, he was not channeling energy or focusing on the elements and components of his fire arrays. Therefore, no alchemy and no fire.

His attention was drawn back to the young boy, who seemed smaller than his blood clotted clothes would suggest. "A hand, Lieutenant," he said, crouching down beside the boy's head and torso. "Gently hoist his legs - well..." He broke off, avoiding eyeing the roughly butchered stump of the boys left leg.

Not even a nod or a 'yes' of submission - Hawkeye simply knelt down and followed orders, a testament not only to her loyalty but how severe the situation was.

They had come here on a routine recruitment mission, following up old rumours of a talented alchemist living in the small provincial town of Risembool - a Van Hohenheim. The townsfolk, at first wary of the soldiers, had eventually (and grudgingly) admitted that he had lived among their numbers, but had left years ago, leaving behind two sons and a woman - to the general knowledge of the locals, Trisha Elric and Van Hohenheim had never married, and to Roy's surprise no-one expressed any judgement towards this. Where other towns would call the children bastards or the mother a whore, there was only acceptance.

Further enquiry - from Hawkeye and her 'friends' - unearthed the reluctant admittance that Trisha Elric had passed nearly half a decade earlier, and her two boys had left town with their 'Teacher' soon afterwards, yet to return, according to the majority of the public. A young girl - Nelly or something similar - had confided that the 'teacher' was one of alchemy.

It was then that Roy decided that this trip might not be an entire waste of time. If Hohenheim had left behind his notes, anything that could be useful to the state was more than likely locked up in an empty house, gathering dust and decay.

A small conversation with a barmaid (one that made Roy nervous that Hawkeye was a hair's breadth from shooting him) later, and he had gained directions to the Elric house - "It's the house just off the river, by the hill with the Rockbell house. You can't miss it, Rockbell Automail & Surgery is near impossible to miss."

Unfortunately, no carts were available to take them, meaning a _long_ walk was in order.

Riza's only response to this had been a slight, barely there smirk at the Colonel's complaints.

It had been dark out by the time they had breached the first crests of the hills that surrounded the Podunk town of Risembool, even though it was not yet truly evening. A storm was brewing along the horizon, branching black and blue veins along the sky and bringing with the thunder and lightning a sense of undeniable foreboding.

The Elric house had just come into clear view when it began - ozone and electricity arcing through the air past Roy, and the unmistakeable blue light of a transmutation illuminating the night, coming from behind closed curtains.

He barely remembered breaking into a sprint, his Lieutenant close behind him - his only thought had been for a transmutation to have that kind of reaction.

Whatever it was, it had to have been _huge_.

And now a boy, no older than ten, way dying.

"Where are we taking him, Sir?" Riza's capable hands had looped up around the boy's hips, his thighs resting as gently and lightly on her forearms as she could manage; doing her best to avoid causing him pain by refraining from touching the raw meat of what remained of his leg, as much as she possibly could.

Roy's mind blanked for a minute as his arms automatically moved to cradle the boy. Then, "Didn't someone say there was a surgery or something nearby?"

"Yes, the Rockbell's," Riza answered immediately.

"On the count of three," Roy warned. Riza nodded and braced herself. As they lifted the boy's limp body, he whimpered in pain - the sound wasn't anywhere close to human, and Roy did his best to close his ears to the high-pitched cries and sobs of agony mixed with pleas for 'Ed'.

The stairs were difficult to manoeuvre with a near literal dead weight sharing in the balance of the two military officers, but somehow they managed. It wasn't until they made it to the front door and registered the rain that was pourig down that Roy realised just how difficult - how _dangerous_ - this was going to be.

Riza's eyes were like burning weights on his shoulders, far worse than the world.

"Sir?" She said, her tone quiet and questioning, ready and willing to accept whatever decision he made with no judgement or reluctance. Her silent faith in him was both harrowing and humble.

The muscles in his shoulders and along his spine tensed in readiness. "Brace yourself, Lieutenant."

•

The woman that opens the door to greet them is quite possibly the shortest person Roy has ever met, but the fire that blazes in her eyes as she takes in the sodden yet still bloody boy lying limp in both his and Riza's arms shows that she is far from diminutive - he guesses that what she lacks in height she _more_ than makes up for in both bark and bite.

"Hell," she says slowly, her gaze sharp behind her spectacles, lingering on the boy. Those eyes snap up to take in both Roy and Riza in a matter of seconds, flicking over the insignias and stars emblazoned on their blood soaked uniforms.

"Well, what are you waiting for, you stupid Colonel?" She snapped out. "That boy there in your arms is dying, are you just going to _stand_ there? Get in, now."

As if being commanded by the Führer himself, Roy resisted the urge to stand to attention and salute, instead rushing inside.

"Winry?" The old woman calls out. "Run the tub. We've got a customer."

"In _this_ weather?" The voice is young, amazed, and moving closer, coming from upstairs. "Has Mr. Nedobeck had _another_ accident with the shears? Because last time -" the voice, which was coming from a pretty young girl, blonde hair half tied back, blue eyes and wearing a pink floral print dress, broke off. Her blue eyes were fixated on the boy in Roy's arms, and her country tanned skin paled. "_Al_!" She screamed out.

"Run the tub, Winry!" The old woman's voice was sharp and allowed no room for arguement, disagreement or disobedience. "Do you _want_ Alphonse to bleed out? For right now, he's simply another patient. Remember your training, girl."

With a jerky nod, her eyes never leaving the boy - Alphonse - she ran back upstairs, and the sounds of pipes groaning with the weight of water soon followed in her wake.

"What are you waiting for, soldiers?" The old woman barked out. "You, Lieutenant - take him up to my granddaughter. She'll know what to do. Colonel, you come with me."

Riza quickly moved closer to Roy and then away just as fast, shouldering all of the boy's weight to her. She was there and then she was gone, leaving only wet footsteps and a path of watered down blood.

The woman ambled faster than Roy would've thought possible towards what he supposed was a kitchen, and he was quick to follow. A small part of the weight of responsibility had been lifted off of him, and that was a slight relief, but he knew he wasn't free of this - not yet.

Maybe not ever.

"I'm Pinako Rockbell," she said. "What's your name, soldier?"

"Roy Mustang, ma'am," he said, not bothering to address his rank. She already knew it and didn't seem to care.

Pinako nodded. "Now that we've got the pleasantries out of the way," she said, "You tell me, Roy Mustang - what the _hell_ happened to that boy? And where on _earth_ is his _brother_?"

Roy's heart turned to lead; poisonous and heavy. "_Brother_?"

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**notes**: fuck but Roy is hard to write. Sorry if he was out of character. I did my best. Usually interludes will only happen every now and again, but the next chapter will be an interlude too, 'Kay?

**notes2**: I love Pinako. She's fun to write.

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[tbc in 'interlude two']


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